


Jealous of the Rain

by Solstarin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solstarin/pseuds/Solstarin
Summary: Under pressure, precious things can break.





	Jealous of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I literally threw this together in like three hours because Jealous by Labrinth KILLS ME EVERY SINGLE TIME, and I’m also obsessed with this man, and I have a habit of writing him in the wee hours of the morning so it worked out. If it’s messy that’s because I queued this for 2pm but I finished writing (/ editing but there was very little of that) at 2am.

Loki could see himself in every angle of this new man. He could see it in his dark, well-kept hair, and the sparkle in his doe-brown eyes. His smile split his lips the same way. She had told him once that the corner of his mouth quirked up when he spoke to her sometimes; he could see the same tick in this man, now, as he sat peering into a book, reading it aloud to her. And he could see the same gentle adoration in her eyes as she gazed at him from across the coffee shop table. Her fingers skipped across his knuckles, her chin propped up on her other palm, the same way he’d caught her looking at him, before. 

But he was not the one sitting there before her, entertaining her pretty mind and enrapturing her attention. For how many similarities this human bore, he was everything Loki was not, and had all that granted him.

He was jealous, but he had no right to be. 

He was jealous of the drink that sweetened her lips, jealous of the knit sweater that kept her warm, jealous of the pins that trapped her silky hair, and the tendrils that brushed across her face as the shop bustle stirred the air around her. He was jealous of the knuckles that her fingers explored, the eyes that sought hers and found they were still focused, the ears that caught the bell chime of her laugh.

He had no one but himself to blame, truly, for the way things were. She had always been more than patient with him, with his troubled past and the ugly masks it hid his face behind. But she was patient with him, always, never pushing or pressing. It seemed she knew his limits better than he did, and handled them with care from the day he met her to the day she smiled at him for the last time. 

They never had the kind of relationship he saw around them, but she told him once that it didn’t matter. He was giving her what he could, and that was all she wanted. That was all she needed. The fact that she said she needed him hurt him now than anything else. He had taught her how to live without him, and then had the audacity to turn and ask why she didn’t cling to him like she used to. He expected her to return to him in the weeks after she left, telling him mortal men could never give her what he did, to cast her eyes down like she used to and offer him another chance. He couldn’t honestly remember how many chances she had given him. He was ashamed to say he had a speech prepared, admonishing her for thinking her life could be safe and happy without him. The fact that he never got the chance to say it aloud to her made him glad, but at the same time, no one would ever guess that they once shared all they had.

But she had that, now. She had a man who understood her jokes, and never needed her to explain what the latest news meant, who could make her coffee in the morning. Her new lover likely never stood head and shoulders above her and explained in an chilly, sharp voice that he was a King and he would be obeyed. He likely didn’t stay up until the light hours of the morning in fear of who might find him in his sleep. He was her equal, her rock instead of the other way around. He likely confided in her truthfully, for he did not fear his past and his actions. 

Likely he never reduced to hiding outside a window, pining after a woman he could never love, concealed from her behind a hood and an untouched drink. It was pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her and risk looking like more of an apathetic idiot. 

She told him when she left that there was more of himself to find before she could burden him with the needs of another person. He _had_ found himself, in every breath she drew, but too late, as she ghosted it across his skin saying goodbye. He hadn’t the courage to tell her this, and in a moment of anger kept icily silent, letting her leave with a painful streak of betrayal painting his chest. It seemed all he loved were fated to leave him, but he could not blame them, as there were days he wished for nothing more than to carry a different name and a different heart. 

He had since let time rip them irreparably apart. He could never have her back, and every day the hold he had on that small portion of her mind when she compared her life now to when he was in it was diminishing. Soon it would be gone, and he would be little more than a passing stranger.

They stood, leaving their ceramic mugs on the table and waving happily to the shop owner as they departed. 

The bell above the door shattered Loki’s peace, and the setting sun cast her shadow long, down the sidewalk. It slipped across him for a brief moment, but it provided him no warmth or comfort. 

He stood and watched them meander down the street, ending another day together, and with a bitter, jealous heart, he turned away from her for the last time.


End file.
